


You've Got Me Wondering Why

by enoughtotemptme



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: And it's definitely not as angsty as the summary makes it seem, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, That's it, that's all it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-16 16:06:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3494549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enoughtotemptme/pseuds/enoughtotemptme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke doesn’t mean for a lot of things to happen. She doesn’t mean for Murphy to be strung up by a lynch mob.  She doesn’t mean for Finn to murder eighteen people in her name. She doesn’t mean for her people to be turned into sacrificial lambs by the Mountain Men. She doesn’t mean to start sleeping with Bellamy Blake, but that doesn’t change the fact that all of these things happened anyway.</p><p>(Written pre-"Blood Must Have Blood, Part 1.")<br/>(Day One of #OneYearOfThe100 Week: Favorite Female Character's POV)</p>
            </blockquote>





	You've Got Me Wondering Why

**Author's Note:**

> Written pre-"Blood Must Have Blood, Part 1."

Clarke doesn’t mean for a lot of things to happen.

She doesn’t mean for Murphy to be strung up by a lynch mob.  She doesn’t mean for Finn to murder eighteen people in her name. She doesn’t mean for her people to be turned into sacrificial lambs by the Mountain Men.

She doesn’t mean to start sleeping with Bellamy Blake, but that doesn’t change the fact that all of these things happened anyway.

It starts as a way to deal with it all. All the things that weigh on her shoulders weigh on Bellamy’s too, and they’ve discovered that the only way they can continue to function is to share the burden.

At first that means sharing the blame, sharing the guilt. Then it means sharing a plate of food by the fire, forcing each other to eat when neither of them really feel like it. Then it means sharing a tent, so that in the dark of the night they don’t have to go far to share the nightmares that wake them.

And then, eventually, it means sharing everything else. Their memories, their impossible hopes, their dreams as well as their nightmares. Their bed, their breath, their bodies.

These days, Clarke thinks thankfully, there’s far more good to share than bad. The two-year-old peace with the twelve clans is as amicable as peace with them can be, and they’ve made a home for themselves on the ground. Their wounds have healed, and the scar tissue left behind is manageable.

Things have gotten to the point where she’s used to waking up to Bellamy in the early hours of the morning, like she does today. When Clarke’s eyes open to the pre-dawn light filtering into their relatively new cabin, they immediately widen and a gasp slips out of her mouth.

“Bellamy!” she breathes, flipping back the bed furs to reveal him with his mouth pressed firmly to the cleft between her legs. He glances up at her with hooded eyes, but doesn’t respond except to suck lightly where he had been licking her clit.

“Oh,” she stutters out, and her thighs spread wider of their own volition as her hands tangle in his hair. He must have been at it for a while already, because only moments later she’s coming, her orgasm rolling over her gently while Bellamy continues to lave her flesh with his tongue.

She comes down with a sigh as Bellamy crawls up her body. Once they’re face to face, she presses a lazy kiss against his mouth, tasting herself on his lips.

“Morning,” she says when she pulls away.

“Morning, princess,” he says with that little smirk of his. “Sweet dreams?”

She smiles at him. “Can’t complain.” Then she shivers a little––it’s still winter, and Bellamy managed to make sure they both woke up naked. She turns and wiggles until her back is pressed up against Bellamy’s front, and from this angle she can see his arm reach down to haul the furs back over them.

Being held against him like this isn’t new, but that doesn’t mean feeling him pressed against her isn’t exciting. Clarke pretends not to notice the heat of him against her and she scoots even closer. His hand slides to her hip and grasps tightly as he groans.

“Clarke,” he says warningly.

“Hmm?” she says, adding a little circle of her hips.  

“ _Clarke_.”

At the strangled sound of his voice, she smiles, knowing he can’t see it. Then she lets out a little yip when, with little fanfare, he lifts her leg up over his and slides right into her. The yip turns into a moan at the feel of him hot and heavy inside her, and she clutches the furs with both hands.

“ _God,_ Clarke, you’re wet,” Bellamy says into her neck.

His lips moving against her skin make Clarke shiver, but she manages to reply, “You made sure of that, idiot.”

He nips her neck and she squeaks.

“Be nice,” he chides, hot breath warming her.

“Yeah? Make me,” she challenges, thrusting back against his unmoving form.

“Alright, princess,” he responds, and his big hand firmly grasps the leg hooked over the top of his.

Then he _finally_ starts to move, and _god_ , he feels so good, because even though this position doesn’t allow for a lot of movement, it’s the _perfect_ angle to drive Clarke wild. Sweat starts to gather all over her body, still buried under the bed furs, and each of her pants are perfectly in sync with Bellamy’s thrusts. His free hand worms its way under her body so he can cup her breast and roll her nipple between his fingers while he keeps fucking her.

It feels _so_ good, it always does with him, but she can’t help but want something–something– _something._

“Bellamy,” she pants, “I need–I need–”

“What do you need, Clarke?” he grits out, tweaking her nipple and drawing a sharp gasp from her lips.

She doesn’t _know_ , that’s the problem, and the only thing she can think to say is “ _More_ , Bellamy, _please,_ more.”

His thrusts slow until he’s buried in her, unmoving, and she whimpers because that is the _opposite_ of what she meant.

She whines his name and gets a sharp pinch to the thigh in response.

“Hey!” she says. “What was that for?” She tries to move her hips against him, but just gets a second pinch. “Bellamy!”

Clarke still can’t see his face in this position, but the sound of his voice when he speaks makes her wish she could. It’s low, gravelly, dark, and every word seems to sizzle right through her.

“You want more, Clarke?”

Clarke swallows hard.

“ _Clarke_?”

She nods minutely, but even though she knows he can feel it he delivers twin pinches to her thigh and nipple, making her clench around him.

“Say it,” he breathes into her ear. “Nicely.”

“I want more,” she finally whispers, “ _please_ , Bellamy.”

“There you go,” he says.

He nips her earlobe, then soothes it with his mouth until she’s moaning constantly. Then he’s hauling her into his arms and turning them until she’s pressed belly-down into the bed, her nipples rubbing against the rough fabric of their sheets. The movement and that sensation alone is enough to make her gasp, and she has to turn her head so her mouth is free to breathe in air rather than the feathers from their pillow.

Bellamy slipped out when he moved her, but as he settles on top of her, pushing her legs together with his thighs on the outsides of hers, she can feel him burning against her ass, still damp from her.

Clarke can feel him duck and press an open-mouthed kiss to the nape of her neck, and shudders ripple through her.

“More like this?” he says, urging her to place her hands palm down next to her face. The placement doesn’t give her a lot of leverage, and the way he pins her hands down, lacing his fingers with hers, gives her even less. But instead of frustrating her, the helplessness sends a rush of warmth between her legs.

“Yes,” she breathes out. “ _Bellamy._ ”

“Patience, princess,” he laughs against her skin. She whimpers and tries to rub her thighs together, but his hold on her is too tight even for that. Clarke finally stops squirming and waits, trembling, for him to move. It seems like _ages_ before he shifts at all.

But when he does, he lowers himself so he’s pressing his body fully atop hers. His legs still keep her thighs closed, and he has to thrust _hard_ to get into her in this position.

“ _Oh god_ ,” Clarke says, hands spasming underneath his. Her closed legs and his weight on top of her means she’s fucking _tight_ around him, and it feels like every inch of him is rubbing against every best part of her.

Bellamy makes a little strangled sound of his own, but any trace of the grin it prompts on Clarke's face is erased when he recedes and _slams_ back into her. He keeps thrusting like that, hard and rough and tight inside her, and it takes fucking seconds for her to be dragging in air like she’s drowning. Each time he moves he shifts her whole body along the bed, and feeling of the fabric dragging against her breasts only heightens the sensations he’s creating in her.

She almost doesn’t recognize the sounds she’s making, which is vaguely embarrassing, but Bellamy’s harsh pants and grunts are just as animalistic and she can’t bring herself to care when he feels _so fucking good._

The heat and pleasure inside her are quickly spiraling higher, and she dimly realizes she’s chanting his name over and over as she gets closer and _closer–_

And then he moves, nudging a knee in between her legs. She whimpers at the pause in their rhythm, but he doesn’t respond, and he urges one of her thighs up, up, up until her bent knee is high on the bed, his directly behind it.

Clarke’s not sure why he bothered to change her position, but then she feels him lean back a little and thrust hard into her again. She chokes on her own breath, because now she’s splayed open against the bed and each powerful push and pull of Bellamy’s hips grinds her clit into the coarse mattress. The orgasm that had been steadily trickling away while he moved her immediately erupts over her, white hot pleasure eclipsing all of her senses––she can’t hear, she can’t smell, she can’t see, she can’t feel anything past the burning bliss.

Eventually, though, she returns to her body and little things start to catch her notice.  The first things she notices are the painful sounding gasps of her own lungs trying to suck in enough air. Then she feels the heat of Bellamy’s come deep inside her, and the sensation of him gradually softening. She notes the little spasms throughout her entire body, her limbs twitching occasionally with the aftershocks of her orgasm.

When she can breathe enough to speak, the only words she can find to say are, “Oh my god.”

Bellamy’s chuckle is more an exhausted huff of breath that she feels against her hair. At some point, he rolled them back on their sides so he didn’t collapse on top of her body with his dead weight. Now he slips out of her and they shift to their backs. Together they kick the rumpled furs to the bottom of the bed, and Clarke relishes the cold air of their cabin. Bellamy’s hand finds hers and their fingers lace together while they both stare up at the ceiling.

“That was okay with you, right?” he asks eventually, the slightest tinge of embarrassment coloring his voice.

“Yes!” she replies, probably a little too quickly. She clears her throat and adds, “Yes. More than okay.”

“I didn’t––I mean, I wasn’t able to––” Bellamy groans. “You took me by surprise, okay?”

Clarke snorts and grins up at the rafters. “I know you came in me. It’s alright, Bellamy. We’re probably far enough away from the fertile part of my cycle.”

She lets out a sigh and hears him yawn right after. Ignoring the stickiness between her legs, the sweat cooling on both of them, she turns and shifts until her head is pillowed on his arm, her legs tangled with his, their hands still clasped.

“We should probably get up,” Bellamy says sleepily.

Clarke cracks open an eye she hadn’t realized she had closed. True, the pre-dawn has become the full, bright light of morning.

“Probably,” she agrees, snuggling in closer. “Lots of work to do.”

But without meaning to, they both fall asleep.

* * *

Clarke doesn’t mean for a lot of things to happen. She didn’t mean to start sleeping with Bellamy Blake, and she didn’t mean to start loving him. She definitely didn’t mean to goad him into fucking her with all the force he could muster.

But just because she didn’t mean for it to happen the first time…well, that doesn’t mean she can’t do it on purpose the next.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was shameless smut. It's also somewhat based on this tumblr post from the blog imagineyourotp: "Imagine your OTP lying next to each other in bed, staring at the ceiling, embarrassed and slightly alarmed by the wild, intense, filthy sex they just had." Not sure that it's actually filthy, but still. Title from Lady Gaga's "I Like It Rough." ;)


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